Israel
by Effexxor
Summary: Israel is a land of great hardship, doubtless to whom the hardships have been dealt. AU 3x4 2x5
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Okay. My old account on here, Fern of The Light, has a bad, baaaad version of this story. I wrote it three years ago, and owch… Lets just say I've learned a lot about writing since then.

Malwi and Khalique are simply made up characters, made with the Maganacs in mind, but not based directly off any of them.

This is my attempt to show the human sides of both ethnicities. I hope it makes you think about the situation and figure out your own beliefs on the topic, not my beliefs or anyone else's around you.

Terms you may not know:

Salat: Daily prayers for Muslims. Said 5 times a day.

Muezzin: Religious leader in the mosque. Leads prayers.

Tigya: Small white cap. Like a small beanie. Used to cover head during prayers.

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The rich smell of heady Arabic coffee filtered through the air, waking the busy world of Israel and causing it to almost hum as children skipped in their playgrounds, mothers gossiped with their neighbors, and men bickered over sports scores. But there would always be the mornings where smoke overpowered the coffee, the children hid behind their mother's skirts, mothers shut their windows and did their dishes silently, and men donned yamakas and turbans and killed one another's child.

And both fought in the name of God, a god they said was kind and loving. Both blamed the other in a situation that was beyond blame. Their leaders led them against the other, forcing more violence and bitterness. All wish for an end, but no one can seem to just let go and forgive.

It is in this situation that our two main characters exist in. Neither has known what their enemy is. Such is the way in 'God's Land'. But what is so significant about these two is their abilities to be young and able to choose. One, a Muslim lawyer, is kind yet sharply intelligent, firm in his beliefs and even firmer in his want to learn from others. The other is a withdrawn Jew, quiet and melancholy, who has a brilliant mind but successfully hides himself from anyone and everyone.

The two should never have met. They should've stayed strangers, found lovely girls who completed their lives, and settled down. But life is nothing if not fickle.

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"Halt!"

A guttural growl came out of a large Muslim student, whom had only a moment before been walking down the busy street with his friend. He muttered underneath his breath, his eyes carrying a long suffering look. "For the love of… We need to meet Khalique, we're already late, and they just have to stop us now."

His friend just shook his head, giving him a relaxed grin, "We'll get there. Stop fussing, you sound like your mother. It'll go quicker if you don't talk back this time though." Mawli snorted, but conceded to Quatre's advice. His temper would get them nowhere.

"You two know the way we do this, turn your back to me, make your arms rest at parallel away from your body, and legs apart." Said the Israeli guard. The guard was a young kid, still covered in zits. He was the norm of the soldiers though, unprepared and untrained for his work. The Israeli government had a draft, forcing every male over the age of 18 to join the army for at least a year.

The guard barely checked Mawli, instead thoroughly checking Quatre. He fingered Quatre's pink tshirt and smirked, saying, "A fag and a Muslim. Man. And here I'd thought I'd seem the bottom of the barrel." The blonde was biting on his lower lip hard, straining mentally with the want to turn around and deck the ass, but instead just waited till the soldier left, inspiring a good deal of admiration in Mawli.

"You have the patience of a saint, you know." Mawli remarked offhandedly as they continued their walk.

Quatre snorted, rolling his eyes. "It's not patience, it's the knowledge that if I did hit him I would get arrested in two seconds. Doesn't matter if you or I heard him, because our opinion is worth crap, according the bias of the legal system."

"Alright then…" Mawli grinned, "You're just a wuss then. I'll remember that." He laughed as Quatre pushed him and gave him an apologetic smile. They fell into a companionable silence, leaving Mawli glad once again that Quatre had moved down to Palestine.

Quat had shown up at the mosque one day for Friday prayers, and was instantly regarded with a great deal of suspicion. He was a tall blonde haired, blue eyed kid, not exactly anyone's idea of a Muslim. The whole mosque watched as he removed his shoes and washed his hands and face as per tradition. The shock was even greater however when he slipped on an old tigyha and performed salat perfectly along with the rest of them, proving to not be just an interloper.

The muezzin had then gone up to him and introduced himself, striking up a conversation. Quatre turned out to have just recently moved to Palestine from Denmark to pursue law. Apparently his parents were Saudis involved in the oil business. They had moved to Denmark to help with the oil drills off the Danish coast. They ended up staying there and adopting children, one of whom was Quatre.

It hadn't taken long for him to charm the mosque. The men loved his quick wit and humor and were impressed by his extensive knowledge in law. The women were utterly charmed by him, constantly cooking him things and trying to interest him in their daughters, despite the knowledge that he was as queer as a three-dollar bill.

Mawli had become good friends with Quatre. He knew him pretty well. However he was utterly baffled as to why Quatre wanted to go to a little bakery in the Jewish quarter so bad though. "So. Figured out why you want to go there so bad yet?"

"Yes, actually." He grinned sheepishly, "I've been craving apfelkuchen for the longest time, and they have the best in the whole city."

Mawli rolled his eyes but kept walking. The food was good… As the pushed their way into the interior of Jerusalem, the streets bustled with activity. The sounds of rapid buying and selling of goods echoed through the open air market on their way, inspiring Mawli to buy a particularly good bag of dates, the two splitting the sweet fruits till they finally reached the tiny café.

Their friend stood out in the crowd due to a lack of yamaka or tassel, a lock of hair going from the temple to the chin. Not to mention the fact that Khalique had no body fat to speak of. Mawli muttered to Quatre, "Get me a cherry torte and a croissant." He handed his money to the blonde, who patted his back supportively, "Go easy on him. He's been to hell and back." As Quat got into line, Mawli took a deep breath and sat down across from his oldest friend. "Khalique, I'm glad you came"

The man smiled at him, holding his hand out to him, "Of course, I missed you."

As they sat down, Mawli took the opportunity to hold Khalique's wrist and pull his sleeve back. He'd gained a little bit of fat back at least, but not anywhere near as much as Mawli would have liked to see. "Anorexia's still giving you trouble then." He sighed and released the bony hand, rubbing at his temples. "If I have to I will drag you back to the hospital."

Khalique looked down at his lap and let out a deep breath. He slipped his hand into his pocket. "Mawli. I love you, you know that right?"

He nodded, giving him a smile, "Yeah. I love you too."

"Then… You'll understand why I have to get justice for our people."

With one push of the button, the café erupted into chaos, killing all but two people in the explosion. One was Quatre, thrown by the blast into a green eyed Jew, the pair careening into a wall. Rubble fell, but it managed to lodge itself just so that it left an air pocket, keeping them alive and changing them both.


	2. Chapter 2

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Physics was always something Trowa could be certain of. No matter what ever happened, one could always find a formula to fix it. There was a complete set of rules for every problem. Religion didn't matter. Identity didn't matter. Past didn't matter.

He'd sit at his desk in his Hannover University dorm room and envelope himself in his studies. His shaggy light brown hair blocked out everything but his pencil and paper. But sometimes Heero would come in, a fellow Physics student, and Trowa would feel sharp teeth nip his bare neck. Heero knew how focused he'd get, and had an ability to change that focus to their sex life instead.

At the bite, Trowa would let out a soft growl and attempt to ignore him. But then a hand would slide up his shirt and play with a dusky nipple, making his resistance crumble to the ground. He never could call what they did 'making love' or whatever other couples called it. It was more like a fight between two wolves, feral and rough without a single spoken word.

Heero was stunning in his harsh sexuality. His hair was a dark brown, almost black, which would just out raggedly against the world. Hard blue eyes would study Trowa's sweat slicked body during their encounters, his wiry deathly strong arms pinning the dark blonde to the bed. Nothing was soft about Heero, from the jagged details of his face to the grunt he'd give when he came.

It came as no surprise to Trowa when Heero abruptly left him for a young, pretty girl whose parents were rich. He'd sent a wedding gift and had drunk champagne with the couple, glad for their happiness. But all the same, he'd stayed virtually celibate from human contact, quietly accepting a job at an Israeli university.

His math was still there though. The formulas and rules hadn't left. He would conduct his classes with an impersonal, coolly professional manner. He went to temple every week, if only to try and remember his own back in Hannover.

That temple had been a small one, rebuilt after the war. It was made up of almost all Holocaust survivors, a group whose sorrows were shared intricately. Everyone's past and losses were understood, causing a close-knit family to be created. But down here, that was lost.

Trowa could sympathize with the survivors. Everyday in Hannover he'd watch those closest to him struggle to 'fit in' with those who'd been completely unknowing as to what was being burned in the smokestacks. Most of the survivors had come down to 'the chosen land' to be with other Jews. This caused the community to only focus on themselves and their issues however, something that disturbed the hell out of him.

They were all so bent on revenge they'd forgotten what their religion was about. The last week at temple instead of hearing how to better himself, he'd heard of the Muslim scourge. True Trowa felt they were rather barbaric, but Judaism wasn't a vengeful religion and Jehovah was a kind and loving god.

Groggily Trowa awoke in his small apartment, which lay right on the edge of the market district. The hubbub in the street filled his room with the sounds of booths being set up, of arguments over space, and of early shoppers bargaining for a good price.

He staggered into his bathroom, throwing cold water on to his face in a futile attempt to awake further. Looking up into his mirror he studied the face staring back. His skin had become darkly tanned in the heat of the desert, but his eyes (Heero had told him once they were jade) seemed haggard and withdrawn. He just looked tired, far older than his 25 years.

The water was hot as he stepped into the shower, the warmth nearly overpowering. Afterwards he quickly dressed and slipped out of his apartment into a nearby small restaurant.

Trowa liked the place because of how it continuously reminded him of home. In moving he found that there was more of a change than just people and language. The food was coarser, the flour being less finely ground. The coffee was overpowering, the taste strong like most of the other foods. Everything simply seemed wrong. But in the restaurant he could almost feel Heero's teeth on his neck again and smell the sweet scent of his mother's cooking.

Trowa began to study the people in the room from his small, out of the way table. There was a pair of newlyweds, sharing their croissant and talking happily with stars in their eyes. To there left was a pair of Christian tourists, scarfing down their doughnuts as though if they didn't leave soon Jesus would arise again and they'd miss it. Sitting at a table on the other side of the room was a skinny Muslim, who resembled a skeleton more than a man. His clothes, which appeared to be ready to fall apart, hung on him like a child in their daddy's shirt. He found himself pitying the man, mostly due to the fact that he was reminded of Bergen Belsen pictures. There was the same gruesome mix of only skin and bone, the dejected hang of the head, and the same haunted look to the eyes.

He stood, walking over to the line. Wryly he over heard the couple in front of him, the wife saying, "We should buy land in the Muslim district! It is our right as God's chosen to have our holy land, and if those poor idiots'll sell it to us, why not take what is ours!"

Trowa ignored them, watching two more Muslims enter the shop, one sitting with the skeleton, the other, a blonde, joining the line.

A long time hadn't passed at all before a blast threw Trowa against on of the walls, a body landing hard onto his chest as the building crumbled to the ground.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

"WHERE IS MY GOD DAMN KARABINER!"

Duo was pissed. He had a huge beautiful cliff face that was calling to him, energy that he needed to burn after a day of sitting pretty at a conference, and he couldn't find the locking karabiner that would allow him to scale the magnificent cliff.

He looked under where his harness had been sitting. Nothing. The floor next to it? It wasn't underneath the gym bag, the Quik Mart Value Kup, or the belt he'd been looking three weeks for, all of which were on said floor. Duo growled from deep within his chest and began to desperately rifle through his jeep like a dog trying to find his bone.

Whimpering he buried his head in his arms. He'd been looking forward to this climb ever since he moved to Israel. It was going to be his big 'See? It isn't that different from home here!' moment, and he was going to climb that cliff and feel connected even though he was an ocean away from Chicago. Duo had even imported his Jeep so that he'd be able to get up there. He was going to climb and he was going to be happy-

"Hello? Do you need help?"

Duo sat up and promptly slammed his head on the door's roof, muttering a few choice words. He awkwardly backed out of seat, turning around sheepishly. Except… that was a really familiar stranger. "H-how did you get up here? I didn't hear a car."

"I have a small sedan. It never would have made it up the gravel, so I parked it down on the road and hiked up"

Tilting his head to the side he took a minute to study the man, recognition poking it's head out. "Hey. You're that Chinese surgeon who stopped by the booth earlier, right? The one with that neat technique that had Howard ready to propose to you?"

The surgeon nodded, shifting his heavy duty hiking backpack on his shoulder. "The nerve regeneration based off of acupuncture. Your boss was pretty thrilled about it, wasn't he?"

"Physical therapists always love it when our patients have a fighting chance at normalcy. Especially when that fighting chance is a procedure with the results you've gotten." Duo shrugged, grinning at him from behind his thick bangs. "Plus Howard is a hippie. He loves the idea that a method using eastern medicine could possibly beat the crap out of western medicine."

"Yeah, I thought that. To wear that shirt at a convention that major I figured he either had to be a total moron, or more likely, he just didn't care. And for a pink floral shirt, you have to really not care." He walked over and held out his hand, shoulders back and posture which was a mother's dream. "My name is Wufei Chang. It is a pleasure to meet you again, Mr…?"

Duo grinned at him, grabbing his hand and shaking it firmly. "Duo. I'm Duo Maxwell. So." He let out a deep breath and looked longingly at his Jeep. "I need a karabiner, and a lockable one."

Wufei looked up at the cliff and shrugged off his backpack. He opened up one of the smaller compartments and proceeded to toss a locking karibener. "Looks like we'll be sharing the cliff."

Beaming, Duo attached it to his harness. "Betcha I'll get there first."

He did get there first. But by the time Wufei reached the top, Duo was ready to perform post mortem on himself. Spread eagled against the red rock in the desert sun, his chest heaving from the exertion. Sure he loved climbing, he loved the work, but he made a point to want to climb all the good cliffs in Canada instead of all the good cliffs in Mexico.

The crunch of the rocks signaled Wufei's assent and Duo lifted his head to grin at him. "Told you I'd beat you."

Pulling out a bottle of water he handed it over, saying wryly, "You did beat me. Your face is also pale, you're sweating excessively, and your fingers are trembling." Wufei sat down beside him, gracefully tucking his legs underneath of him. "Drink. I won't let you belay down till you aren't dehydrated."

He thankfully took a swig of the water, pouring a little bit onto his forehead. "Thanks, I needed that."

Wufei nodded and they sat in companionable silence for a bit, both trying to catch their breath. Duo was amazed that he was so okay with not talking. Normally he'd be filling up every quiet with constant ramblings, it was his way of dealing with the uncomfortable. But the need just wasn't there.

"You'd feel better if you took off your shirt."

Cracking an eye open Duo looked at Wufei curiously, "What was that?"

"You're wearing a long sleeved flannel shirt." He explained, "It's very hot out here, and you're dehydrated. Taking off your shirt may help you cool down."

Duo blushed, tightening his shirt around him further, "Nah, that ain't gonna happen. I'm kinda modest."

Tilting his head he spoke coolly, "Why is that? Are you religious?"

"Catholic." He pulled a cross from underneath his shirt and fingered it absentmindedly as he spoke. "It's not so much that my religion requires modesty, it's just that I feel uncomfortable showing my body."

Wufei nodded, running a hand through his hair. "I respect that."

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It was bright in their little apartment, despite being 6:30 in the morning. And it was even brighter when Wufei threw open the curtains, reveling in the clarity of an unpolluted sun. His home in Beijing was in the very heart of the city, meaning that every breeze which met his room was ran with the smell of the fish markets, of the factories spewing out soot, and of the smog which constantly hung around the city.

He loved the desert sun. It was brilliant against everything it touched. The tiles in the mosaics gleamed, the bleached walls of almost all buildings shone, and it heightened the scent of everything that was around. Wufei felt more at home in the pristine land than he had in China. Though the largest reason he felt so at home was laying beside him, grumbling death threats at him in English.

Duo was happily ensnarled in their sheets, though he wore a fearsome scowl at the light. "Damnit Fei," he said in Hebrew, remembering that his partner didn't speak English no doubt. "Why d'you 'ave to wake up so early? And why d'you have to wake ME up so early?"

"Sally isn't coming in today, so I need to set up the surgical prep. And we only have one car, so unless you want to take the bus, you need to get up." He reached over Duo to their dresser, grabbing his glasses. "C'mon Duo."

Stretching, Duo grinned widely up at him and threw an arm around his waist, pulling Fei down onto him. The American said in his deep voice, "There is a better way to wake me up you know." He arched his back up and smirked grinding his hips up.

Wufei arched an eyebrow, remarking "Oh really? Will it actually get you out of bed on time though?"

Duo's hand slid down underneath the covers and Wufei blinked owlishly, checking the clock. "You know what, I think I can be a little late this morning."

The brunette grinned toothily and pounced, flipping him onto his back. He nipped at his lip and ground down, wasting no time. But they were interrupted when an explosion ripped through the city.

"SHIT!" Duo leapt off of him and threw open the window, looking out at the rooftops of the Jewish Quarter. Sure enough, there was a black cloud steadily rising from the markets. A suicide bomber again, no doubt.

Wufei switched on their CB, grabbing both of their paramedic uniforms. Even though they weren't EMT's by trade, they'd both had to get their licenses in medical school. With the conditions of things in Israeli they'd kept their licenses up to date so that in an emergency, they volunteered. "Maxwell and Chang reporting for duty. We're nearby the scene, so we'll meet the squad at location. Out."

"Almad here. We'll meet you there, Chang. God be with you."

Duo was already dressed by then and rolled his braid into a bun, pinning it up and out of the way. "So we need to go left three blocks and then north, and we should find the explosion." He handed his partner his emergency kit before grabbing his own and darting out the door.

They ran down the crowded streets, pushing their way through the terrified people who'd been innocently started their day before the pandemonium. The way they'd all dealt with the fear of the bombers was to tell themselves that it could never happen to them. But when it happened right next door, the fear all came rushing right back.

Duo slid to a halt when he got to the building, heart falling into his feet. The former bustling café was now rubble, and there was no chance that anyone could be alive. This was going to be little more than one big trip to the city's morgue.


	4. Chapter 4

Trowa woke up coughing. His focus was pretty much centered on the dost that had taken up residence in his lungs, and he winced in disgust as he spat out the phlegm. The next thing he noticed was that it was kind of hard to breath. It was incredibly dusty and stuffy, and the little niche he'd found himself in was just a bit claustrophobic. Then he realized with a start that something was on his chest.

That something seemed to have as much trouble as he was, coughing and hacking away. And every movement was lancing pain into Trowa's chest. 'Ribs hurt… Probably broke a few.' He thought absentmindedly, dazed enough that broken ribs seemed like a minor problem.

"Av Allah, hvad er ske? Der hvor er jeg?" muttered the thing, it's voice choked and soft. Trowa's eyebrows knitted and he tilted his head curiously. That sounded like Danish… his godmother lived in Northern Germany near the Danish border and after spending several summers with her, he'd come to recognize the language. And Danish children usually studied German in school, so he made a hypothesis and followed through.

He asked quietly in german, "Hallo?"

The person stiffened and Trowa could feel his hip bones digging into his aching chest. Yes, his ribs were definitely broken. "Y-you're alive?" the person asked in accented German, "I'd thought you were dead, you'd been laying there so still. Are you alright?"

"My ribs do not feel good and the back of my head aches, but otherwise I feel alright. How are you?"

"A slab of concrete is on my legs." He (Trowa thought it was a he) said softly, "I can't feel them though. I think I may be in shock, because I can see where the rock's digging in, but it doesn't hurt."

Trowa's pulse quickened, "Could you get it off if I helped you to push it?"

"No!" The man shook his head, hair hitting the german's nose, "I'm bleeding, but it isn't that bad. I think it's pinching the veins, so I don't want to budge it.."

"Oh." He rested his weight onto his hands and looked around. The café must have been bombed because the only things he was seeing was rubble. They must have been caught in an air pocket he mused, something that was extraordinarily lucky. All explosions had spots that a support beam or something like it was creating a packet of open space, the problem was that to happen to be in one of those places was rare.

The walls were well built. It must have taken an incredible amount of energy to shatter bricks, mortar and concrete like it was little more than brittle clay. Trowa wondered though if the patterns in which the walls broke were the same for other explosions. Could it be that a blue print of a building could be created to create the maximum amount of air space? His mind raced with formulas and laws of physical motion.

"Are you still awake?"

The man's voice was quavering a little. 'He must be terrified', Trowa thought. "Ja, I'm still here. Sorry, but I didn't quite catch your name earlier, what is it?"

"That's because I hadn't told you yet. I'm Quatre Raebarba Winner."

"Trowa Barton."

"So what part of Germany are you from?"

"I'm from Hannover."

Quatre brightened, turning his head to the side a little. "Really? I visited Hannover a few years ago. I loved the Royal Gardens."

He nodded a little and tried to take a deep breath to shoo away the fog clogging his brain. "They're beautiful, aren't they? I always would go to those with my mother in the summer, they were even more lovely then."

"Why did you move to Israel?" Quatre asked, and Trowa vaguely noticed that he sounded concerned. Why, he didn't know.

"To teach physics. I'm a professor."

"Trowa, your voice is starting to slur a little. Come on, stay with me, you need to stay awake. Have you published anything on Physics?"

Quatre had a point. His words were getting less articulate, Trowa absentmindedly noticed. "Haven't published anything by m'self but I have helped people with theirs." He yawned widely, feeling sleep start to sneak up on him. "Helped some people with rocket propulsion. Helped to configure the s-"

Trowa's head smacked against the concrete, but he was too out of conciousness to notice.

Quatre's heart ran cold when Trowa stopped talking. The fact that he passed out could mean all kinds of things, and none of them were good. He could be bleeding internally, he could have a concussion, he could be dying, and Quatre was trapped by a slab of concrete. He slammed his fists against the concrete futilely, and just closed his eyes. He was going to die, he was sure of it. He could see the bone in his legs, he could see all of the torn muscle, and at the very least he'd never be able to walk again. And when the shock wore off he was going to hurt. Big time.

A lone piano began to play in his ear. The song was so familiar, it hit him deep in his soul and his fingers began to 'play' the part. It was time for the vocals.

"Now I've heard there was a secret chord that David played," Quatre took a shakey breath "and it pleased the Lord; but you don't really care for music, do you? It goes like this, the fourth," the piano swelled, "the fifth, the minor fall," he could feel the rush rise in his chest at the chords, "the major lift, the baffled king composing Hallelujah."

* * *

Duo stood from where he'd been digging in the rubble, looked at his scratched hands and debated to himself whether or not he was hearing a figment of his own device.

* * *

"Hallelujah," Quatre laid his head against the concrete, fighting tears, "Hallelujah"

* * *

"Fei!"

The Chinese man lifted his head and looked inquisitively at Duo, "What is it?"

Wufei silenced when he saw Duo lay a dirty finger over his lips and stumbled over to him, listening carefully to a whispered, "Listen."

* * *

"Hallelujah, Hallelujah," Quatre broke down and sobbed out a broken, "Hallelujah."

* * *

"Oh god." Wufei turned to the paramedics and screamed, "We need help here now! Someone's alive over here!"

Duo scrabbled at the concrete and yelled desperately, "Where are you? How are you?"

* * *

The blond froze as sun slid through an opening in the rubble. "Help! I'm trapped down here, I have a big rock that's right on my legs and there's one more guy here, he was awake but he passed out."

Duo let out a deep breath of air, "Great, that's great, you're going to be okay."

Deep in the hole Quatre nodded. "Yeah, I know."


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Finally. My muse got distracted, so I just kinda made myself write, and here's the result.

Dentelle Noir: I am so, so, so flattered. 'Wilderness' is so good and... wow. I'm amazed that an author as good as you would write so many reviews.

Karina: Thanks for the grammar .' I'm 3/4 Dane, but I can't speak the language. So it's so appreciated

Flona: Still appreciate the feedback.

Manga: Thanks! Reviews don't only make the world go round but they also make us want to write more.

* * *

/ The little boy liked dirt. A lot. It smelled good and felt good underneath his hands and when he got to go to the park he liked it a lot. That was why he was so happy, because his mama had taken him to the park so he was playing in the grass and getting absolutely filthy. The day was pretty and the sky was blue and it was just barely spring.

He patted dark mud into a cake. An acorn cap and a leaf when to make it pretty and all in all he was very proud. He decided to be a baker. That way he'd be able to eat chocolate all day and make cakes. That sounded fun, and he could bring mama a torte everyday. Mama loved tortes.

The little boy decided to give mama his mud cake. She'd admire it and make a fuss over him then give him a bath. Baths were warm and he got to play with his bath toys. Maybe he'd even get a bubble bath for making such a good cake. He stood up and looked over at the bench she usually sat at. A frown crossed his face. Mama always sat there with a book and her purse. But now she wasn't. That wasn't what was supposed to happen.

His nose started to prickle like it always did before he cried. But he didn't want to cry, he just wanted to go home and have a bath. So he sniffed and started to toddle off to find his mama, leaving his cake on the seat in case she came back.

She wasn't at the drink vendor's cart and she wasn't at the bridge or in the rose garden. She wasn't even at the bathrooms, because he'd asked a lady to check for her and the lady said she wasn't there. Trowa started to walk back to their bench and he was really sad that he couldn't find her. He wanted to cry and throw a tantrum but he didn't want to, and he had to find mama first.

He finally found her when he was walking back to the bench. She was sitting on the ground and crying and he wasn't sure why. But he'd found her so now she could take him home and give him a bath. "Mama? I made you a cake out of mud."

Her hands were still wet and salty from her tears when she grabbed him and held him close. It wasn't comfortable for him because she was holding him real close like he was a teddy bear but he liked to cry with his teddy bear too, so he understood. And that was when he saw the smokestack tall and solemn in the sky. Mama didn't like the new metal factory even though Trowa thought it was super neat.

Mama cried about a lot of things. The factory, whenever she saw someone with a shaved head, when someone moved to quick around her and especially when Trowa asked if he had a grandma like the kids in the radio shows. When he was littler he'd cry with her, but by now he was a big boy and he knew she wouldn't get up for a long long time if he cried too. He just needed to get her to get up and then they'd walk home and he would try to do all the things that made her laugh and maybe by the time they were home she'd be okay enough to give him a bath. /

/The lights were all turned off when Trowa entered the apartment. He groaned. This was not a good sign.

He set his bag of groceries down on the counter and put away the milk, so that it wouldn't sour. Then he went around the suite and turned on all of their radios, filling the rooms with the soft sounds of a Saint-Caens flute concerto. Absentmindedly Trowa admired the flute player's tone. The air stream had to be incredibly smooth to be so steady and he felt such jealousy well within his heart.

Every lamp in the house was then turned on, helping the gloom with their rosy colored lampshades. He went to his mother's bathroom door which was securely locked and rapped the door three times, then twice. She finally emerged, eyes red from crying. Her voice wavered, "I was scared that they'd taken you too."

"I had gone to the store Mama, we drank all of the milk this morning, remember?" He said gently, leading her back into the bathroom and sat her down onto the cream yellow chair which as there for this exact purpose. He ran the water in the sink and set a washcloth under the stream. She asked timidly, "Reginald? Are you mad with me?"

The water was cool to the touch as he wrang out the washcloth. He ran it over her eyes gently, his voice calm, "Mama, I'm not Reginald. He's been dead for 20 years. I'm Trowa, your son."

"Oh." Her voice as airy. She didn't know what she was saying. She often mixed him up with her brother, but he understood because from pictures he knew they looked very similar. None the less, she usually was lucid enough to tell the difference.

When he finished washing her face he opened the medicine cabinet and pulled out a bottle. He poured a bit onto a spoon and she obediently opened her mouth and drank it all. Trowa helped her to her feet and eased her into bed, taking off her shoes and pulling the covers over her. She slept deeply from the medicine and wouldn't wake screaming from nightmares. It made her groggy for a few days after, but the night before last she'd spent the whole time baking cookies and he'd had to stay awake and keep an eye on her. He was still tired from that and needed a night of quiet.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that this wasn't the normal life for a 12 year old boy. Somewhere he knew that it was unfair that he couldn't go to school with the other little boys and had to be home schooled. But his Mama needed him, so that didn't matter. He just shut off the lights and radio and swiftly fell asleep in his bed./

/His mother had met Frank in one of her stays at the hospital. She'd been diagnosed with bipolar disorder and post traumatic stress disorder and she needed to go to her psychologist twice a week. Frank was a nurse working there and he fell for her. She was beautiful, her hair the same russet blonde as Trowa's and her figure was still slim after all of the years. He was handsome and broad shouldered and he understood what she was going through. When she heard he was Jewish also, she accepted a date from him and they fell in love.

Frank liked Trowa, a rarity in the men who'd chased his mother. He appreciated what Trowa had done for her and when he married Mitzi, he talked her into letting her son attend high school. So when he was 14 he entered school. His reading skills weren't quite up to par and neither was his grasp on history (his mother's teaching had been to biased) but his math was found to be incredibly high.

His life had always had one big focus point; his mother. When Frank had entered the picture he'd taken care of everything Trowa had been doing. So when the teachers found his savant like ability in math, that then became his focus. He threw himself into math and science with an almost religious fervor because it was something to do. Because he wasn't defined by who he was, he felt, he was defined by how was getting there./

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

Quatre loved sports. He loved track and field, he loved swimming, he loved baseball and he loved wrestling. Sports that were all about speed and wit instead of brawn, he excelled at. He'd entered the restaurant that morning with that mindset. But that night, that had all shattered.

His legs couldn't be saved. The doctors amputated from his mid thigh down and Quatre kept thinking that he could feel his toes, whether they were there or not. The doctors were kind and understanding and gave him plenty of morphine, but he kept thinking that if they'd really cared for him they should have just let him die when he was under the anesthesia.


	6. Chapter 6

I love you Manga. Really. Much love, homes. Sorry about the shortness of the last chapter, I hereby dedicate this chapter to you.

* * *

It was at its worst when they replaced his bandages.

They just took so long. They'd start to take of the outer layer then the padding then the gauze underneath that and then they'd take off the cotton padding off of his stumps. They stank of iodine and sweat and his stomach wouldn't stop turning.

The nurses cleaned his legs quickly, which was a nice change, but it was still far too long. He just hated seeing them, hated having to face the reality of it. When they were hidden underneath of his blankets it was out of sight of mind. When they weren't… it was all real. His only condolence was the painkiller they'd give him afterward. The drug wasn't as good as the morphine he'd gotten at first but it was enough so that he could sleep for a while.

He couldn't sleep at night anymore. He'd sleep all day from the painkillers, but at night he was wide awake and itching to get out. Luckily, his roommate was the same way.

Trowa'd just woken up. He pulled back the curtain separating their beds groggily, still wiping the sand from his green eyes. Quatre gave him a small smile. "How was your therapy?"

His response was a shrug of his shoulders. "Chang's still studying which nerves are damaged and which aren't. They're keeping me on the muscle relaxants till they can start the treatment."

A wince flashed across Quatre's face. "Did you talk to him about any meds that don't make you feel so out of it?"

"They don't exist. For them to work, I have to be relaxed and for that, they need to be mind altering." Trowa sat down in the chair next to Quatre's bed. He rested his head into his hands, careful to avoid moving his neck too badly.

They called it Central Pain Syndrome. In the explosion Trowa'd neck and head and gotten damaged, especially the knot of nerves at the base of his neck. At anytime the nerves would go haywire and he'd literally convulse from the pain. And Quatre felt miserable for respecting him more for it.

He couldn't help it. What Trowa said, he knew that he knew what he was talking about. He'd hurt too. His life was falling apart too. Their worlds were falling apart around them and they were stuck in it together.

"How's your mom taking the news? Better?"

Trowa snorted and ran his hand over his face. "She's still terrified that I'm going to die. She wants to come down and see me but her doctor doesn't think it would be wise for her to visit yet. He wants her to not depend on me so much."

Quatre squinted his eyes at him, trying to see something more in him than just stoicism. "Do you agree with that?"

"Yes. She needs to be able to rely on herself. How are your parents?"

"They've been giving me space, thanks be to Allah. I couldn't deal with seeing them right now." He looked down at the dip in his sheets where his stumps ended. "I'm having a hard enough time seeing myself."

Trowa nodded. That was another thing that Quatre liked about him. He knew when and when to not talk.

> > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > 

His physical therapist knew when and when not to talk. He just didn't care. He'd burst into his room when Quatre had just started to come down off of his painkiller, when he was at his crankiest, and he was so loud and so brash. Duo was so stereotypically American that it made him sick.

And the problem was that he was so good at what he did. Duo could get Quatre so riled up that he'd forget about his legs and lack there of and would just do the damned exercises to get the American off of his back. And then he'd see the smirk on his smug face and it was just so frustrating when Duo was right.

Today had been no different. The hospital specialized in physical therapy and rehabilitation so they had work out equipment that was specially designed for people who'd lost their legs. It consisted of few bars that went over his bed and they were deceptively simple.

He had to learn to rely on his arms, and that took upper body strength. His workouts were constant pull ups, core workouts and even grudging exercising of his stumps. His muscles shook. It hurt. But the pain was different from the pain of his legs, and that was a good change.

Duo was always there to make sure that he didn't slip and fall wrong. He kept a hand on his back and helped him to make sure that he didn't fail. After so much failure, it was good to have someone there to make sure that his losing streak stopped.

"Come on Quatre, just give me five more pull ups and we can stop. I'll even get you a slushie. That's right, hospital contraband, but I'll break the rules for ya."

Quatre glared at him from behind his sweaty bangs. "You're using me sweet tooth against me? You're cruel. Just sick."

Duo's grin was too impish. But Quatre grumbled and did the damned pull ups. He was gasping like a fish at the end of it, but his therapist opened up the room's refrigerator and whipped out his reward.

He nearly pounced on the lime/ice mixture and slurped the syrupy goodness. The brain freeze was sneaking up on him so he took a break. He glared at Duo who was looking at him with an arched eyebrow. "Shut up taskmaster, I'm thirsty."

Duo threw his hands up and smiled disarmingly. "I was just admiring the transformation from articulate diplomat to wild animal. Drink on."

His upbringing gasped in horror as he went back to slurping.

> > > > > > > > > > > >> > > > > > > > > > > > > >> > > > > > > 

"I felt better for the first time since the explosion."

Quatre's head snapped up from the pillow and he blinked away his painkiller's fog. "Chang did the electrical stimulation?"

"Yes. On my neck. I twitched at first but when he took out the needles, I felt better. Not normal and they haven't taken me off relaxants, but I feel better already."

Quatre smiled at him, and his face lit up the room, cutting even through the dark.

> > > >> > > > > > > > > > > > >> > > > > > > > > >> >> > > > > > 

Trowa was sleeping off his relaxant when he heard the voices.

Quatre had decided to forgo his painkillers that day because Mawli's father was coming to visit. Their voices were hushed and in Arabic, so Trowa just as easily fell back asleep. He'd see how it went later.

He was crying.

Trowa sat up. He put on his slippers and slipped off of the bed. He pulled the curtain to the side and sat down beside his bed. "It didn't go well?"

Quatre wiped his eyes with his bedsheet. "It went well enough. He needed to hear that Mawli wasn't the bomber, and he wasn't. It's just…" His lower lip trembled and his knuckles were white from gripping his bedsheet. "I hate how Khalique did that and how he killed all those innocent people. And… and how he killed Mawli. Mawli was his best friend and he was his biggest supporter when Khal was anorexic." His voice dipped into a breathy whisper, "I just don't understand."

Trowa looked down at his hands. "I'm sorry. He may have just read a passage in the Qu'ran and taken it too seriously."

Quatre's head snapped towards him, "What do you mean by that?"

"Well…" Trowa looked up at him skeptically, "The Qu'ran is a very violent book. It isn't hard to see how he could get the idea."

"And the Torah isn't violent?" He sat straight up, tears long gone and his lawyer side kicking in. "According to the Torah it is perfectly alright to sell your daughter into slavery. It also says that murder is fine and good if done in the name of the lord. The Qu'ran tells us that it is wrong no matter what to kill the defenseless."

"Then why are people suicide bombing in the name of Allah? The Jews aren't doing that."

"No, they're doing it in broad daylight with AK – 47s and killing children because they may be a 'threat'."

They didn't talk the rest of the night.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: So I realized always kinda thought of this fic in the 70's. Hence why there are no cell phones, no internet, no computers, no other big technologies, etc. And because this takes place in the 70s and because Duo is American and has the long hair and is so free spirited... he's a hippie. And he smokes a little.

First off I'd like to say that I am adamantly straightedge. So I can't stand drugs. However, hippies in the 70s smoked pot. Everybody in the 70s smoked pot. My Dad remembers in college when movie theatres would be so smokey that you couldn't see the screen. It's just what people did. Nobody do it though! It kills brain cells and the heat from the joint is far higher than even cigarettes and they WILL give you lung cancer.

* * *

The apartment reeked with the smell of pot but Wufei overlooked it. Duo was laying in his lap and there were streaks down his face from tears. He was shaking and his hair was a mess and Wufei understood.

They'd gone to see an American documentary, 'Our Hearts and Minds', that was playing at a local movie theatre. It was about the Vietnam war and it'd gotten good reviews, so they went. It was a wonderful documentary and it never lied. That was the problem, the movie didn't lie but the US government had. And Duo felt that deeply.

Fei took another hit of the bong. Normally he hated the stuff, it made him stupid and that was simply intolerable, but after seeing the deaths of god knew how many children who'd been unfortunate to be born in Vietnam, he needed to make his mind just stop for a moment. "That was a rough movie." He said between wisps of smoke.

"It was. I'd love to see the look on all of the politicians if they actually saw this thing. Maybe they'd actually call the boys back home."

"Probably not."

"Yeah." Duo nibbled at his lower lip before saying quietly, "I protested the war back home, you know."

Wufei looked down at Duo and stroked away a wisp of his long hair. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." He took a shaky breath, "It was during my senior year. Things were just starting to heat up over there, ya know? So I went with some of my college friends from the Art Institute and we joined a protest at the Pier. It was fun, we had this big talk about human rights and then we went over to Jeannie's apartment and took some acid." He laughed cynically, a rare thing that Duo never did unless his guard was down. "We really made a difference."

"You did something. That's better then what most people did."

Duo snorted and took another hit. "You know why I wasn't drafted? Because I got accepted into University of Chicago the day I received the draft card. I was so damned happy that I'd gotten that acceptance letter because I didn't want to go around the world to die in a jungle. But another one of my friends didn't get his letter in time and got drafted. Because I got out of it, some poor sap got sent instead. I'm here on borrowed time.

That was when I got off the drugs. Well, the bad ones like acid anyway. But when I realized that I'd killed some kid because I made it to college, I decided that I wasn't going to waste that life." Wufei stroked his hair and Duo buried his face in Wufei's tshirt. His voice was muffled, "I wish I could have said sorry to that kid. I wish he knew Wish I could've fully gotten myself off the drugs too."

"You did your best."

"Yeah well, it wasn't much."

Wufei snorted and shook his head, small chuckles escaping his lips, "And here I thought hippies were supposed to be happy."

"Yeah, I thought so too."

"I'm never going to be allowed into China again because I left." Duo looked up at him inquisitively, for good reason. Chang didn't like talking about China, he avoided it whenever possible. "We were getting our results and they were so good but we knew that the government wasn't going to let the results leave the country until we could fully bring the nerves back. And we couldn't do that alone, medical breakthroughs take hundreds of different ideas by different people. If we could get our data out there, we could help medicine along on it's search to regrow and restimulate nerves.

Instead we were stuck behind my motherland's rules. I spoke with my clan about it, and they decided that the only honorable thing to do was to get a doctor's visa out of the country along with Sally, leave and never come back. So I did. If I ever try to return, they'll arrest me and I will never be able to leave. I don't know how my family is doing. The government's been known to punish families of expatriots. But they wanted me to do this."

Duo sat up blearily. He cleaned the last bits of grass and soot from the bong and rinsed it clean. After he dried the piece he tucked it back into one their cabinets and opened the windows. As the twilight air came filtering in through the curtains the pair's silhouette was stark against the light. Duo had straddled his lover's hips and wrapped his arms around him and they sat for what seemed like an eternity, wondering who was holding whom.

* * *

Things were tense around Rm. 339. Quatre had stopped talking to Trowa, and Trowa'd stopped talking to Quatre. They refused to even acknowledge each other's existence, and Trowa was grudgingly realizing that he missed talking to the Dane. He'd missed talking to someone who was from Europe, missed talking to someone who understood what he was talking about. Missed the knowledge that he wasn't the only lonely person in the promised land.

But he was a stubbourn chit and he was in no way about to apologize to that anti semitic till he apologized first.

It was just so damned boring. He'd never been the type to enjoy watching television, so gave him no relief from the tedium of the hospital, and he couldn't exactly do physics with his muscle relaxants, so that was out of the question. Before he'd made fun of things with Quatre, they had bitched about their doctors and then they'd take their pills together and giggle in drug induced bliss.

Well, Quatre giggled. Trowa maybe smiled more, but giggling was out of the question for any well raised German boy.

Anyway, the talking ban just wasn't cutting it. One could only sleep so much before it got boring. But he'd be damned if he'd be the one to break the silence.

* * *

When Duo walked into 339, it was… awkward.

Quatre had snapped at Duo during one of their workouts but it was understandable because he was tired and cranky and he was hurting and it wasn't anything personal. But Trowa decided to 'defend' Duo and snapped back at Quatre.

Quatre threw it right back at him. Trowa threw it right back again. The fight escalated and Duo was literally holding the blond back, who had every intention of crawling over to Trowa on his stumps and beating the crap out of him. It was a good thing Wufei had an appointment with Trowa, because otherwise the physical therapist was going to be in some trouble.

In fact, in trying to calm down his patient Duo'd gotten an elbow to the face in return for his efforts. This made him cranky. So when Wufei found him in the lounge nursing his eye with an ice pack, he growled out, "We are putting them in therapy. NOW."


	8. Chapter 8

"HOW THE HELL DID YOU SCARE OFF THREE THERAPISTS?"

Trowa was intimidated. He honestly didn't know that Duo's face could turn that shade of purple.

"The first one, yeah okay. Maybe I could understand that you just had differences. The second? Well, there can be more differences and besides, Horner can be an ass. But to make the third one CRY! And Quatre! For you to be the one to make her sob? Wufei had to beg her into not quitting."

Quatre's eyes narrowed, "She called me innocent. I don't do well with that, okay?"

Trowa nodded helpfully, "I heard it all from the waiting room. He told her, and I quote, 'If one more goddamned person calls me innocent I'm gonna shove my innocent foot up their ass.'"

Hmmm. Not only could Duo resemble a beet but his eyes could also bug out of his head. Man of many talents, indeed. "You told her WHAT!"

Quatre shot the professor a glare, "At least I didn't start telling the second one that he was a moron because he didn't know quantum physics. And then, I defiantely wasn't the one who sat for the rest of the session saying nothing but mathematical formulas so loudly that the cripple in the waiting room couldn't concentrate long enough to read his damned magazine."

"You did that to Horner! The man's a genius! Do you know how many papers he's written on psychology?"

He stuck out his chin, resembling strong a pertinent child. "Well he can't do quantum physics worth a damn."

"No one understands quantum physics! That's why they're quantum physics!"

"I understands quantum physics."

"Shut UP, Quatre." Duo was seething. "Okay, that's it. I really didn't want to have to stoop to this level but you've left me with no choice. I'm gonna call Une. She's known around here as Commander Une, and there's a reason why we call her that. It's because she a total bitch, but if she can't deal with you assholes, I'll eat my foot."

He stalked out of the room like an angry wet cat. Quatre and Trowa looked over at each other and scoffed, the Dane grumbling, "Someone forget his PMS meds this morning."

"No kidding."

* * *

Une was like a heated missile and she had Quatre and Trowa right in her sights.

They'd barely stepped into her office when she barked, "Sit down on the couch Mr. Barton, Mr. Winner, you'll park your wheelchair beside the couch."

Like small children they immediately obeyed, still wondering what the hell had just hit them. "Now. Mr. Winner, I've read reports by your physical therapist, doctors and nurses. All have been reporting a decline in energy, a lackluster appetite and insomnia. All have especially noted an increase of irritability, described by Maxwell as 'bitchy.'" She looked at him from over her glasses. "I understand your country of origin to be Denmark. Am I correct?"

Quatre frowned and leaned forward. "Yes but I don't understand what this has to do with me being bitch-"

"Scandinavia has the highest rate of suicide in the world, Mr. Winner. This has led several people to believe that depression is a hereditary as well as being caused by the lack of sunlight. I happen to be one of those people. You will begin an anti depressant starting tomorrow, a small dose and we will work up from there. As the treatment of depression tends to work best when combined with talk therapy and medicine, your physical therapist will act as your intermediate psycologist. We will meet once every week till I deem it fit for to be entirely under Mr. Maxwell's care."

Trowa felt a sudden rush of fear when she settled her crosshairs from a now speechless Quatre to him.

"Your doctors, Mr. Barton, have noticed a small facial tic occurring near your right eye-"

"What is a tic?" Trowa butted in.

"It is an unconscious twitch of the facial muscles. It makes you look like you are winking."

Quatre brightened, "Oh yeah, I've seen him do that!"

Trowa shot him a murderous glare but Une continued on, "Facial tics can be reduced by use of a tiny amount of Risperdal. It is an antipsychotic so not only is it highly addictive but you will also most likely retain water for a few days. However the trial you will need to be on is very short, so I've concurred that it will indeed be more beneficial for you to take it instead of continuing the tic and having it develop into a lifetime problem.

I also took it upon myself to look at the psychological survey that your job required when you were interviewed. I've seen some aspects of it that disturb me, such as your avoidance of crowds and your mother's state of mind."

His voice was growling as Trowa leaned forward in his chair, every muscle tensed. "My mother did the best she could and I will not have you insinuate anything else."

Use shot back, "She may have done the best she could but after a few years of concentration camps she couldn't have done much. I've had quite a lot of experience with the children of Holocaust victims, Mr. Barton. I haven't met one who hasn't had to raise their parent in some way or another and it is highly unlikely that you would be any different.

Now, as I was going to say before I was interrupted, I feel that it would be warranted for you to also begin therapy. Because of your aggressive behavior towards a psycologist who you view as less intelligent than yourself, I've decided that you will have hour long chats with Dr. Chang, who is under the impression that you two get along well. Like Quatre, you will also meet with me once a week."

The pair left office whimpering.

* * *

"It's just annoying okay? My family has done very well in business and that's a lot to live up to."

"Quatre. You're a wildly successful lawyer at the age where most people your age are trying to find a firm who'll take them. You've lived up to your family's expectations, trust me."

"And how am I going to continue to succeed? Being a successful lawyer has a lot to do with appearances. It's your job to fluster the person you're cross examining, it's your attempt to make them mess up. How the hell am I going to do that when the person's looking down at me? Wheelchairs don't make good impressions."

"First off, that's bullshit. Second, that's bullshit. Lastly, you're an extremely good candidate for prosthetic legs so when you do go back to work, I highly doubt you'll go back in a wheelchair."

* * *

"I don't know why I'm taking this. I don't have a tic."

"Cut the stoic German bullshit, will you? It's not flattering. You have a tic. It's not minor either, so take the Risperdal."

"Hn. Still don't think I have it."

"I could give a shit less. You're a good friend and a good patient but not when you start bitching. Then you just get annoying."

* * *

"So I didn't sleep last night."

"At all"

"Well, two hours. But that doesn't count. I'm tired though, I really really want to sleep. It just isn't happening."

"What did you do then? Read?"

"Um…. God, this is going to sound dumb. I listened to Trowa sleep."

"Awww!"

"Shut the hell up, Duo."

* * *

"I took care of her since I can remember. But then she remarried and I went from taking care of her to playing footie. Then I went from footie to math. Then I went to physics. I've never gone through life without something that's all encompassing."

"That's scary. Like going through life with a ball and chain."

"More like anchors. If I lose one, I'll just fly away."

* * *

"So then Fei does this thing with his tongue and oh. My. God. Angels appear with harps and there's this choir and fireworks and…. Quatre!"

"Angels? ANGELS? Of COURSE I'm laughing!"

"Hn."

* * *

"I think I've got a mancrush on him."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. He's smart, he's funny, he's articulate and he can't stand me."

"Give him time."


	9. Chapter 9

"I'm going to miss driving the most."

Duo startled. Quatre'd been in a funk for the past few days, not talking to anyone and instead just laid in bed and stared at nothing. So hearing him grumble about something, anything, was a welcome gift.

Duo'd been getting honestly worried about his charge. Quatre hadn't had the largest appetite to begin with and in his funk, it'd been nothing short of impossible to convince him to eat. On top of that, Quatre happened to be an amputee who needed more food anyway to heal properly, so his physical therapist had been one meal away from getting him on an IV.

He missed him too. Quatre was his buddy, his sarcastic little bitchy buddy. He could complain with Quat, talk over problems with him and he was his first friend in Israel. So if Quatre needed time, he'd get time. And if he wanted to talk, that was fine too.

Duo muttered out, "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Quat sighed, a long and deep one. "When I got my driver's lisence I was able to drive my sister's Volvo. I'd make up events I had to go to and I'd just go driving instead."

They sat in silence.

Quatre spoke again. "I'd always roll the windows down. It made me feel free. The ocean air would blow in sometimes and I would taste the salt and I just keep driving till I couldn't smell it anymore."

"That why you haven't been talking or eating?"

"Because I couldn't smell it anymore?" he asked, face scrunched up in confusion.

"Nah, because you can't drive anymore." Duo said calmly.

His breath rattled in his throat as he groaned. There was another silence.

But Quatre wanted to talk.

"Yeah. That's pretty much why I feel like crap. I'm going to have to depend on other people for the rest of my life. That or I'll have to live in the city where I can walk everywhere I need to go, and even then it won't be the same as driving."

"Quatre…" Duo took a deep breath, "It could be way worse than it is. You could be paralyzed or dead. Trust me, you got really lucky."

"DON'T SAY THAT!", Quatre said, shooting up in his bed, "I've been hearing that for everyone, All it's ever done is make me feel guilty as hell because that insinuates that what I have isn't that bad. I'm a cripple, Duo, it is that bad."

The brunette furrowed his brows and leaned forward in his seat. "You could have died, you could be a quadriplegic. Compared to so many people you have everything-"

"But I'm acting like a spoiled brat because I'm pissed. Well, guess what. I can tell myself that could have happened to me all I want but it will never," He drew in a shaky breath, "never change the fact that I don't have legs anymore. This is what is tangible. This is what I'm left with. And it. Is. Hell."

Quatre was breathing hard, cheeks scarlet. His chest was heaving and sweat was slowly beading on his forehead. Duo hadn't seen him this alive in weeks.

"Duo. Are you understanding any of this?" He sounded so desperate.

"Yeah. I get it."

Trowa grunted a little when the needle went into his neck. The needles were tiny but his neck was sensitive, so it stung like a bitch. A soft hum rattled through the room and the needle started to heat up. The electricity thrummed into his knot of nerves and the constant pain began to subside.

More and more needles went into him, under the careful touch of Dr. Chang. None were as bad as the first one and as small a comfort as that was, he was grateful. And even though he had his shirt off and the room was cold, he was perfectly warm and sleep nagged at his eyelids.

Chang made him sit up, hands gentle as he eased Trowa onto a chair so that he was straddling the back. A quick check assured the doctor that the needles were still in their proper places, his hands deft as he fixed one needle that had slipped out a little.

"How's Quatre doing?" Wufei asked before he slid the needle back in. "Duo said he had a bit of a breakthrough."

Trowa snorted, "Yeah, now instead of laying there like he's dead, he cries. He doesn't do it a lot, just at night. It's just sad."

"At least he's eating."

"No kidding." Trowa gave an exasperated noise at the memory, "The nurses were literally threatening to shove the food down his throat. He's nothing if not stubbourn."

Wufei chuckled dryly, sitting down on a chair in front of Trowa. "I've heard. Duo loves it though, I think he's been getting sick and tired of not having anybody to bitch with, at work at least."

"Why doesn't he come in and bicker with you, then?" One could just hear the arched eyebrow as he said that.

"Duo doesn't want anyone here to know that we're dating, much less that he's gay. He's terrified that if he talks to me during work, someone'll notice."

"Duo? He seems…. Not like that."

Wufei snorted, "He'll only be himself around you if he trusts you, and even then he's usually holding something back. You should see him around his boss. He adores the man but wouldn't dream of telling him."

"He tells them he has a girlfriend?"

"More like he says he's seeing someone, he just doesn't specify anything about them." He leaned back and pressed his fingers against his eyes. His voice was hesitant, "Duo doesn't lie. Ever. What he says is always true, it may not be all of the truth, but it's true. Howard knows that Duo is dating an Asian who works in the medical field, and if he assumes some things, Duo won't deny or agree it."

"Chang, the man has a three foot long braid." Trowa said skeptically, "People can tell."

"He's American, people just accept that he's a hippie and don't think anything different of it. I think Hilde and Howard know that he's gay, not necessarily about me though."

Tro's green eyes studied his doctor for a moment. "That must be tough. Having to hide something like a relationship from your friends."

"It is. I'm blunt, everyone who asks knows that I'm gay, and I haven't noticed any change in how people treat me. I can't stand lying, so it's just easier for me to tell people rather than have some damn secret." He shrugged casually. " He's worth it though. He's a secretive little brat who never lets his mask down, but I love him."

"Even though you can't tell anyone?"

"I like Duo despite his faults." Wufei stood and adjusted the electricity. "I think that's the point. Everyone has their quirks so it's pointless trying to find perfection. You just have to find someone whose good points outweigh the bad."


	10. Chapter 10

AN: Well, your eyes aren't decieving you. Yes, Effexxor has updated Israel. I'm amazed too. Enjoy! (And I've just re-edited the ending because the way it was, it would end way too sappy. Sorry!)

* * *

"That's it. I've had it with this place." Quatre threw the wet towel which'd been laying on his forehead aside and sat up sharply. His hair was dark with sweat and lay flat and limp against his face and his skin was flushed but his eyes were sparked. 

"And what are you going to do about that?" grumbled his roommate who sat in front of two fans in his attempt to beat the heat.

Quatre leaned over his bed and scooted his wheelchair over. Carefully, he lowered himself down to rest in the upscale wheeled cart and flashed Trowa a grin. "I'm going to go to the zoo. That's what I'm doing about it. And you're coming with."

Trowa's back went taut as he sat up straight, looking at Quatre with unbridled shock. "You're going where?"

There was a wide smile on Quatre's face after he popped his head through the tshirt he'd been putting on. "To the zoo. And you're coming with, so get out of the hospital gown. It's not nice to scare the children while walking around with your ass hanging out."

"Alright. You're dehydrated and delirious. Quatre, listen. We're in a hospital right now for a reason. Remember?" Trowa had spoken very slowly and clearly. Sunstroke was supposed to make people go a little loopy and with this heat, that was a good reason for Quatre's delirium.

"Oh, I remember. But we're in here by chance and thus, we are able to come and go as we please. And frankly, if I spend one more second in this place, I will go insane. So come on Trowa, get dressed."

He wasn't sure why. Really he wasn't. But he obeyed anyway and slipped on an old tshirt of his, trying to ignore the triumphant grin on Quatre's face. "So are we just going to leave or do we have to fill out paperwork or…. What?"

"We're going to leave them a note, out of courtesy." was his reply and Quat began to rifle through the drawers beside his bed. "Then, we're going to sign out at the front desk and go. If we get into trouble, we'll call them." He squirmed with joy once he found a pack of hospital stationary and a pen. "So. We're going to say in this letter that we're sick and tired of sitting around here and sweating all day. Anything you'd like me to add?"

This question caught Trowa in mid zip of his fly. He zipped up the last inch before carefully answering, "Tell Chang I'm taking my Vicodin just in case."

"Brilliant! Medication!" Quatre studiously scribbled on the page. "I'll tell Maxwell that I have some pain killers too." After taking a moment to read and read the note, Quatre nodded in satisfaction. "Okay. Time for our breakout."

Trowa hurried after Quat who was speeding down the hallways. This was a nice change in the character of his roommate, honestly. All he'd been was passive lately, and frankly that was boring. This however was interesting and there was a light back into his eyes, albeit a look that was obviously up to something.

If anything was going to snap Quatre out of his self loathing attitude, it would be this current heat wave. B'nai hospital was very state of the art, but in the latest renovations, they'd forgotten one very important thing to update.

The air conditioning.

The AC unit had broke a week ago, which coincided with the latest heat wave perfectly. They have five different fans up in their room all at full blast but nothing was able to tame the repressive heat.

The elevator chimed merrily as the small metal box reached their floor. The doors swung open and Quatre rolled himself in over the bumpy door with no problems. Trowa leaned against the cool metal of the walls and patiently for the first floor. Their silence was not quite uncomfortable but it wasn't particulariy peaceful either and Trowa was absolutely stumped as to why Quatre had chosen him to go to the zoo with.

He wasn't a good conversationalist and he was socially awkward and he just wasn't an interesting person. Even at the university, surrounded by other reluctant savants, he hadn't fit in. Whether it was his odd upbringing or his own tendency to become a hermit was beyond the point. Trowa was just an odd person.

With a shake of his head he attempted to shoo away the depressing thoughts. Rather he began to think about the speed that their elevator was falling down. Each floor had to be about 12 feet tall, give or take a few because of the various ducts and insulation in the wall. It took them 4 seconds to go from the third floor to the second and with that data he could-

"Trowa?"

His head snapped up to see Quatre already out of the elevator, holding the door open with a wheel. Light shined in from the windows of the lobby and lit his hair. Quatre was beautiful.

"Trowa, are you alright?" His blonde eyebrows were furrowing.

His return to conciousness came back with a snap and he walked out of the elevator stiffly, like a wooden doll, "Yes, I am alright."

"Ooookay." Quatre shook his head and pivoted his wheelchair towards the front desk. Trowa followed obediently, noticing the piece of modern art above the front desk. A Mark Franz print most likely, he was best known for his blue horses and there was a blue horse in the picture.

The horse stood at a slight slant, head turned in a coy fashion. Brilliant lines of red and green lashed through the picture, followed by a yellow hill in the background. An inconspicuous plant sat beside the horse, the curve in the leave following the line of the horse's neck.

He looked down, and Quatre was signing something which appeared to be a check out sheet. Absentmindedly he signed where Quatre pointed to and waved to the nurse at the front desk as they left.

Outside was a relief for the simple reason that there was a steady breeze. Trowa took a moment to savor the cool air, taking a deep breath of fresh air scented by the olive groves outside of town. He'd forgotten how sterile the hospital was, and for one wild moment he wanted to do something absolutely stupid and foolhardy. Till he remembered that he already was.

"What're you smiling about?" asked Quatre, arching an eyebrow. "Is it the weather? I've been waiting for days for the sky to be totally clear."

Trowa snorted, "That's why you insisted on having the window seat?"

"Yep!" Quatre grinned up at him, his face filled with an unleashed joy. Fighting the urge to ruffle his room mate's hair, Trowa walked on the down the sidewalk.

"Quatre, where are we going?"

Quat stopped his chair and motioned to the building in front of them. Trowa opened the door for him like a gentleman and they entered, awash with the smells of every kind of soap and hair product quite possibly ever made. The tiles in the aisle were so shiny that they made the light from the fluorescent bulbs even more washed out and bright.

Quatre knew what he was looking for and grabbed Trowa's arm. "Would you grab some sunscreen off that top shelf? If I don't get some on and I stay outside, I'll get sunburned."

Trowa nodded, taking the first brightly colored bottle he saw. The brand was apparently good enough for Quatre and they were paid for and out the door before Trowa could even bring himself to notice it.

They stood at a bus stop which was just on the corner and Quat wasted no time, squirting a healthy dollop of sunscreen onto his hand. As he began to rub the goo onto his skin the scent drifted up to Trowa.

Cocoa butter was soothing. Frank, his step father, had a melanoma taken off of his arm years before he met Mitzi, but the fear of cancer was enough to make Frank militantly diligent about wearing sunscreen. The smell permeated all of his clothing and it always served as a pleasant reminder that Frank was there, that someone was there to help Trowa and be a parent.

Mitzi had been waiting for Frank to come on their sixth date when she had a breakdown. Dressed in her nicest dress, bought just for the occaision, she crouched on the kitchen floor with a brush in one hand and a bucket of soapy water in the other. Try as he might Trowa could raise her from her cleaning, and any attempt to distract her went unheeded. She was in a full blown manic state and nothing would stop that.

The knock on the door came just at the wrong time. Mitzi was three sheets to the wind and Frank would see her at her worst and the possibility of normalcy was growing slimmer by the hour. Half frantic and consumed by dread, Trowa answered the door to a politely concerned Fritz. "Hallo Trowa, Wie gehts?"

"Ah, nicht gut. Mama is sick tonight." He tried to close the door and save Frank from having to see her like this, but Frank wedged his foot between the door and the doorframe. His brows were furrowed, "Is she in a state?"

"Jawohl Frank, she is. She wouldn't want you to see her like this though." He plead.

Frank firmly pushed the door open and took off his lovely tweed coat, taking his cufflinks off and rolling his sleeves up. "Trowa." He looked the frantic boy in the eye and said calmly, "What kind of man would I be to leave? Not just for your Mama, but for you?"

Indignance reared it's ugly head and Trowa stiffened. "I have taken care of Mama for years. We've lasted this long."

"That's very true, and you've done an incredible job." Frank said kindly and put a firm, comforting hand on his shoulder. "But you deserve to have a childhood and you haven't had one of those. I love your Mama and I've become quite fond of you, and I can't leave either of you to be held prisoner to this disease. Do let me help Trowa, you deserve to be helped for once in your life."

Utterly stunned, Trowa let himself be pulled into a warm hug, nose pressed into his shoulder which smelled like sun and sweetness.

"Trowa?"

He looked down at Quatre, arching an eyebrow in response. Quatre held up a palm still coated in white goo. "I have extra. Want me to get your neck and face?"

"I would but I can't reach my neck. Not supposed to lift my hands above my head."

Quat shrugged, "Lean down then. I'll put it on you."

Trowa obliged and bowed his head down to his roommate's level. He was pulled forward to that his forehead rested on Quat's shoulder and a sense of calm filled him as deft hands rubbed the lotion into his skin. There was no friction, just slick comfort and Trowa was mightily disappointed when Quatre guided him back and put the sunscreen on his face.

"The bus!" Quatre brightened and Trowa stood slowly, sleepily noting the bus coming to their stop. The wheelchair ramp opened on the back, an odd coincidence.

"Did you know that there would be a wheelchair accessible bus?" He asked as he helped to push Quatre into the bus, noting his smug smile.

"Lets just say that bus schedules are our friend, Trowa." Quatre helped Trowa to fasten his wheels down onto the bus, all the while with a sated happy smile on his face.

After paying for their toll, Trowa came and sat back down next to Quatre, caught off guard when the blonde started up a conversation.

"I needed to get out of there, you know? I hate when people organize things for me or control my life, because that's what I'm supposed to be doing. I just needed to buck their control and do something for myself."

"And I was brought along as the strong man?"

"No. You were brought along at the friend, honestly." Quatre met him eye to eye with an utterly honest look. "The zoo's only good when someone else is there to enjoy it with you. And Duo would just blab the whole time, so I wanted to bring you along."

"Makes sense."

"Trowa?"

He looked over at Quatre, "Yes?"

"Why did you come along?"

"Because I wanted to have a friend."

Quatre's smile was big and bright and the rest of the bus ride, Trowa was awash with the beauty.

* * *

The Jerusalem Zoo's big selling point was the fact that it had every animal named in the bible in the zoo. Minus the unicorns, at least. 

Trowa was enjoying the griffon vultures the most. The zoo had just begun a conservation program to bring the species back, and they were surprisingly pretty animals. They had incredible wingspans and were actually rather friendly, one having affectionately nipped at Trowa's fingers through the cage.

Quatre on the other hand had enjoyed the petting zoo. A pygmy goat had taken a liking to him and went so far as to jump in his lap and stay there till the keeper had to pry it off.

All in all, the day had been excellent. They'd worn themselves out thoroughly, pigged out on junk food and saw several pretty and interesting animals. When Trowa's legs finally started to give out, they decided to head back to the hospital, boarding their handicap accessible bus and relaxing gratefully.

"Trowa?"

He cracked an eye open, surprised at just how close he'd been to sleep. "Yes?"

"What're you going to do when your nerves are back to normal?" Quatre had leaned over his chair, nearly perching on the armrest. He looked all the world like a little child peering over the edge of their bed.

"They never will be back to normal."

"They'll be liveable though."

"True. I don't know what I'll do. Haven't thought about it."

Quatre chewed his lower lip a second. "Why haven't any of your friends visited? Your rabbi came to see you, but that was it."

"I don't really have friends here yet, I guess."

"You've been living here longer than I have, and I've made tons of friends."

"I'm not that social of a person, Quatre. I'm an oddball, people don't like me."

His face wrinkled like he smelled something bad, and his speech was ferverent. "People don't talk to you because you're smart. They don't talk to you because you won't let them. When someone talks to you and you've been around them for any amount of time, you snap at them. The only person who hasn't told you to fuck off is Chang, and that's only because Duo's desensitized him to that kind of thing. Why don't you let people in?"

Trowa leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, fingertips reaching to brush a coolpipe on the bus seat. "I don't know how too."

"I think you do." Quatre's hand, smelling of sweat but still a little like cocoa butter, reached out to lightly rest on his wrist. "You're just too preoccupied to know it yet."

Trowa turned his head slowly, pulse fluttering in his veins. Quatre's hand trembled as it moved from his wrist to his cheek and his breath was so hot against his lips and…. It was just right.

They kissed.

Trowa's hands curled and tangled into Quatre's hair and Quatre made a keening noise deep in his throat and it wasn't perfect, they hit their teeth against each other everytime the bus hit a pot hole, but it fit. It all fit.

They pulled away from each other slowly when they reached the hospital, Trowa pointedly ignoring the bus driver. He strolled and Quatre rolled into the lobby, both of their faces awash with a persistent blush. They said nothing in the elevator and none of the staff said anything to them, at least until the elevator door opened, showing a very flustered Chang.

"Where the HELL have you been?"

They smirked in glorious victory.


End file.
